


Holy Things (Or Some Bullsh*t Like That)

by Glitteringworlds



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: 5 Times, F/F, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-15
Updated: 2018-04-15
Packaged: 2019-04-23 00:02:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14319984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Glitteringworlds/pseuds/Glitteringworlds
Summary: Yasha has plenty of reasons not to let herself get caught up with a cute trickster cleric. That doesn't mean she won't, maybe, eventually. OR, 5 times Yasha "didn't act on it," and one time she did. Because sometimes Ashley hands you a fic premise on a silver platter.





	Holy Things (Or Some Bullsh*t Like That)

If getting into the town hadn’t been such an ordeal, Yasha might not have gone with Molly on his rounds the next day. But the guard was already treating them like criminals, and she’d been on edge all morning, and even if she didn’t offer, he probably would have pestered her into it anyway.

There is part of her, a very small part, a part she’s trying to ignore, that thinks it’s good that it had been such an pain last night, lucky that she’d felt so on edge, because this blue tiefling keeps meeting Yasha’s eyes, keeps sending her small secret grins, and it’s… nice. Her name is Jester, apparently, and she is quickly pulled into one of Molly’s fortune telling games, all bright eyes and enthusiasm.

She has freckles, Yasha notices, a little faint on the edges of her cheeks, and darker around her nose. They suit her well, with the wide smile and blue skin and fluffy mess of hair and two dark, tightly curled horns. So different from Molly, sweeter, more charm and less flair. She is cute, Yasha thinks, before she can stop herself.

Jester glances over at Yasha again, catches her staring, and Yasha makes herself chilly before she can swing in the other direction - she’s not the type to be caught blushing on the job. Even if Jester looks a little disappointed when Yasha doesn’t return her wave, it doesn’t matter much. Judging by her reaction to Molly, she probably thinks of Yasha as a spectacle more than anything. Spectacles like her don’t need to wave back.

* * *

 

Yasha only pauses for a moment, once the guard disappears inside. The circus is oddly quiet, after all the chaos a few minutes ago. Everyone has already run off, or figured out that the only thing left for them to do is to shut up and wait.

Shutting up and waiting isn’t exactly something Yasha enjoys doing. Running isn’t always easy, but it has to be better than that. Except… there’s Molly, and the rest of the circus, and a sense of unease and responsibility, maybe a little curiosity too, and -

Well, they can all probably take care of themselves. Molly, the circus, and the rest of that odd little group that had chosen to fight when things went sideways. Even Jester, as oblivious as she seems. Oblivious isn’t even the right word, anyways. Overly willing to make trouble. Concerningly willing to ignore the things she notices. Awfully trusting, at least in the people that fought alongside her.

Yasha knows, without asking, without hesitation, that she probably counts among that group, at least in Jester’s eyes. Counts as someone to trust. Which is, well, if not oblivious, than certainly naive. Sure, Yasha doesn’t wish her any harm, but that’s just… dumb luck. Jester can’t just count on meeting the right people all the time. She can’t just assume that anyone with a big sword and a willingness to fight has good intentions.

It’s a little refreshing, though. It might not be so bad, to stay a little while with someone like that. But if Yasha can’t stay for the circus, if she can’t stay for Molly, then she knows she can’t stay for a little blue tiefling with a penchant for trouble. No matter how nice her smile is.

* * *

It’s not exactly nice, to torment innocent shopkeepers, it’s not even a little bit sweet, but watching Jester dart from one shelf to another would almost have Yasha fooled. If nothing else, it’s certainly charming: the wide smile, the quick fingers, the precision and focus. As enthralling as watching anyone from the circus at work.

When Jester starts fawning over the map a few minutes later, cooing over odd town names and possibilities, already full of a hundred different plans, it’s that moment of frantic mischief that tugs at Yasha first. Because Yasha knows she won’t be going with them. She can’t, not with everything that’s happened over the past few days, not when she’s still waiting for a sign about what she needs to do next.

And if she doesn’t go with them, that means she won’t get to witness it, next time. Won’t get to see whatever slightly dangerous, slightly worrisome, definitely obnoxious idea that Jester comes up with next. Which is a shame, because Yasha is fairly certain she’s never seen someone smile quite like Jester does when she has an idea, all energy and crackling potential, so full up on joy that it seems to spark from her fingertips. 

Yasha wonders if she could find a way to come along. Wonders, at least, if she should tell Jester that she will miss the pranks.

Probably not. It wouldn’t be fair to get Jester’s hopes up. If Jester even has hopes about Yasha, which seems, well...

“I like what you’ve done with the place,” Yasha says over her shoulder, as the group leaves.

She tries not to let it get to her, when Jester doesn’t notice.

* * *

As soon as they had left the sewers, Yasha had known another storm was coming. It rolled in just as Jester and Beau were settling in to sleep, leaving her alone, awake, waiting for the first crack of lightning she knew wouldn’t be far away.

The rain blots out most of the other lights outside the window, like a sheet of darkness within darkness, easier to hear than it is to see. Inside the room, Yasha can’t feel the cool air, or smell the heavy scent of rain-soaked streets, but she is content to watch, for a little while. She has all night to leave.

When the others wake a few hours later, Yasha doesn’t move from her vigilance, only half turns her head to acknowledge them. It catches her a bit by surprise, when Jester creeps up beside her, journal in hand. She shares a few of her drawings with Yasha, the colors dull and flat in the dim light, but the lines solid, silly but well made. Yasha doesn’t know exactly the relationship Jester has with her god, but she’s gathered that this journal is part of how she communicates with him, and because of that, it is sacred, in its own strange sort of way. Though she doesn’t know how to say as much to Jester, it’s sort of touching, to be let into that piece of Jester’s world.

Maybe that is part of why Yasha doesn’t mind having Jester there with her, watching the storm. It doesn’t feel like an intrusion. It feels like sharing.

Jester, with her soft skin and sleepy eyes, has her knees pulled up so she can balance the journal on them as she sketches something new. She works with long, clear strokes, as Yasha watches out of the corner of her eye, not quite able to make out what Jester is actually drawing. She’d said something about drawing Yasha, hadn’t she?

It’s too much to think about, and it shouldn’t be so moving, but there is holiness in the storm and the book and for a moment it all gets twisted up so tight it almost hurts, the feeling of wanting to say something, but not having any of the right words.

When Yasha next glances over at Jester, Jester is looking back at her, and in a brief moment of clarity, Yasha wonders what it would be like to kiss her in the rain.

* * *

It’s easy to just stay quiet, as Molly talks, even though the hooks of Jester’s magic still have a hold on Yasha the whole time, even if that makes her squirm a little. When Jester turns to her during a lull in the story, Yasha barely has time to register a sense of inevitable disaster before the question comes out.

“Is there anyone in the group you find reallllly attractive?”

Gods all bless Molly for trying to deflect. Yasha wonders if he did it on purpose.

When it’s her turn again, Yasha struggles for a moment. She considers just not answering at all. It would be wiser, and certainly fair, certainly understandable. But it also, well, it seems silly to avoid the truth. Yasha has always considered herself a fairly blunt person.

The fact that it would probably disappoint Jester may also have some small, small part in the matter.

“Y-yes, of course there are people in this group I think are attractive and charming,” Yasha responds, mostly to the floor. Which is true, and Yasha is glad that she can reply in plural. Thank goodness for Beau’s good looks and Molly’s charm, and everything else too. It’s not a lie. It’s not a lie at all. But part of her wonders if it wasn’t exactly the answer Jester was prying for. Part of her even hopes it isn’t.

Yasha continues, stuttering over her words for a moment, “but that doesn’t mean that I will act on it.”

Then, thankfully, the conversation moves on.

* * *

Yasha doesn’t know, for a long, long time, if she wants to act on it. There are complications, infinite, ridiculous complications, and a few terrifying ones too, a few that creep up like something from her nightmares. Of all the faces Yasha never wanted to see pale and hurt and fading, seeing Jester’s shakes her the most.

It’s a few days after a fight that left the group just two steps from the grave, and they are taking it slow, trying to talk through everything, but mostly not talking much at all. Jester has been keeping them all company, even though she ought to be resting as much as anyone.

When the rain starts up in the early evening, it’s not a heavy storm, but Yasha finds herself at the window all the same, trying to take what peace she can from it. She hears Jester come up beside her, after a few minutes, but neither of them say anything for a long while.

“Yasha?”

“Yes, Jester?” Yasha likes that name. Likes saying it softly, so softly that it’s barely audible over the sound of the rain.

“Could I hold your hand for a little while?” Jester’s face is hard to read, when Yasha looks at her. A little bit hurting. A little scared, even, but a little hopeful too. Yasha isn’t sure if Jester is asking for her own sake, or for Yasha’s. It doesn’t really matter. Yasha couldn’t say no even if she wanted to, and she really, really doesn’t want to.

Yasha nods, and lets her hand fall loosely by her side, with as much nonchalance as she can muster. Jester’s hand finds hers after only a second, small and cold, fingers carefully lacing through Yasha’s. After a moment standing like that, Yasha feels Jester lean into her, arm pressing into Yasha’s arm, her soft forehead and a bit of one rough horn pressing into Yasha’s shoulder.

“Jester?”

“Yes?”

“I’m very glad you are alright.”

“I’m glad you are alright too, Yasha.”

Yasha turns a bit, reaching her free hand over to brush Jester’s bangs back, tilting her head slightly upwards. And then, for no other reason than because she wants to, Yasha kisses her. Just for a moment. It’s nice, soft, and Jester smells like paper and fresh clothes and pastries, and Jester is warm and smiling and very alive. 

And Jester kisses back.


End file.
